Feel The Fear
by nowriterwrong
Summary: There's an unwelcome intruder in Annabeth's apartment, and, with the help of the stranger moving in across the hall, it's time for Annabeth to face her fear.


**_Feel The Fear_**

 _It's eleven hundred hours. Situation review:_ The enemy is not in sight. Upper hand is currently with the intruder.

Intruder is no longer in its place by the skirting board.

I pull my feet into the chair and scan the room, narrowing my eyes. A movement catches my eye and I push my back further into the chair.

It's there.

I think it's looking at me.

I take a deep breath. I can do this. It's not watching me. It's not taunting me, purposely and obnoxiously, by being here. I imagine Luke's voice, "It's more scared of you than you are of it."

I try to forget about Luke. I try to forget about the way he lied about everything. I pretend that, on infestation issues at least, he was an upstanding and reliable purveyor of truths. I pull a flip-flop off of my foot and take careful aim.

Bravery is required here.

I lower my feet to the ground and lean towards it, still half-perched on the chair, in case a quick retreat is needed. I launch the shoe as hard as I can towards the captor and… it lands four inches short. The thing scuttles along the wall towards the TV and, as soon as it moves, I jump back into my chair and pull my feet back into the safe zone.

 _Situation review:_ Enemy in sight? Check. Still breathing? Check… Well, almost. Number of shoes remaining? One.

The thrown flip-flop lies dormant deep in no-man's-land. Only a fool would go back for it.

I hug my knees and look at the clock: 11:03, Saturday morning. I nod to myself, that's good. I'm not at work until Monday, so I can just stay here. It's fine. I'm fine.

There's a magazine lying on the arm of the sofa. I lean out of my chair and grab it.

See. This is okay. I'm having a nice relaxing Saturday morning, chilling out, reading my magazine. I try to concentrate on the fashion spread. It's tricky to focus when one eye is on permanent watch duty.

The thing is still for a clear thirteen minutes but that doesn't mean I can relax. It wants me to relax. It's waiting for me to let my guard down.

Making as little noise as possible, I drop the magazine, and put my hands on the arms of the chair. I push my weight up onto my arms and lean forward so that I'm squatting on the seat rather than sitting.

Creature still in sight? Check.

I turn towards the sofa. What's the best way to do this? Slow and stealthy or as fast as humanly possible? Slow and stealthy has worked thus far. So, very carefully, I stand up on my chair and start to move. I just need to edge along the sofa and then I can hop straight in to the hallway - and straight to freedom.

As I take the first step over the arm of the chair and onto the sofa, it moves straight towards me across the middle of the room.

I guess slow and stealthy is out of the window.

I bounce across the sofa and leap through the door. Forgetting the plan, I dash across the hallway and out of the front door.

In the communal stairwell I stop, jamming my foot in the door so it doesn't lock behind me. I take a deep breath.

 _Situation review:_ Enemy's location? Unknown. Must be assumed to have taken control of all territory inside of apartment. My current location? Standing on communal landing, out of breath, in shortie owl pyjamas and one shoe.

"What are you doing?"

Voice behind me? Unfamiliar.

I turn around. The speaker is in his early twenties, with windswept black hair and sparkling green eyes, and, to his credit, he's trying really hard not to stare at my boobs or legs. In fact, he's looking very intently at a spot about three inches to the left of my ear. I notice that the door across the hall is propped open with a box.

"Moving in?" I ask brightly, deciding not to dwell on what I'm doing.

He nods and steps forward, holding out his hand. "Percy."

I take his hand in mine, "Annabeth."

"Right." He pauses, allowing his eyes to skim across my clearly-not-leaving-the-house attire. "Well, I'll let you get back inside."

"Good. Great." At this point I could still come out if this looking normal. I could simply have been checking the post, or taking some trash out. That wouldn't be completely insane. All I need to do is walk back inside and I'll still look like a fully functioning grown-up.

I push the door open further and peer inside. I can't see it. It's not there. It must still be in the living room. Or not? There's a cupboard in the hallway and a coat stand. It could be behind either of those. Just waiting.

God! I wish Luke was here. No, I don't. Luke's gone. That's good. He's dealing with his own crisis' now. I don't need him. In my mind I list all of the things I've done on my own since he left: I got the car serviced and successfully argued about the price when they ramped it up to little-woman-who-doesn't-know-cars levels; I tiled the bathroom; I made coffee for Thalia while she retiled the bathroom. But that's fine. Because the ability to tile is not a key indicator of independence.

I'm still not technically inside.

"Seriously, are you okay?"

Same voice. Same guy.

"I'm fine."

He shoots an eyebrow upwards. "You don't seem fine."

I don't answer.

"OK. You're the quiet type. That's fine. Am I aloud to guess?"

I lean myself against the door-frame where I can look at him and still sneak glances back into the apartment in case of sudden movement.

It's ridiculous, I know. But so long as he's guessing I don't have to go back inside. I nod.

"Right. You're an assassin who's been sent to take down the owner of this apartment – "

"Why would I be in my pyjamas?"

"Good point. So… You're not an assassin. You're a supermodel, shooting a night-wear campaign – "

"So why aren't I being photographed?"

"You snuck out to find food, because your manager only lets you eat one grape and a celery stick per week."

I laugh, and then I remember that I'm not supposed to be enjoying myself until I've worked out how to regain possession of my apartment.

I stop laughing.

"I'm not a supermodel."

"Shame." He grins. "So you actually live here?"

I nod.

"And you've got a horribly misjudged one-night stand in there whose refusing to leave?"

"No."

"No? Boyfriend then?"

I shake my head.

"Husband?"

I shake my head again.

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

He sighs. "I could've helped with the one night stand."

"How so?"

"By pretending to be your very very jealous boyfriend."

I'm not sure what to say to that. I scan my eyes back across the hallway: still no movement. That doesn't mean anything, though. It's in there somewhere. Watching. Waiting.

"You're really not going to tell me?"

I shake my head. I'm dealing with this on my own.

"But you do live here? I don't need to call the police or anything?"

"I live here."

"Right. Well, I'd better get back to unpacking."

He heads back down the stairs. He must have a van outside. That gives me about a minute, possibly, to be out of the stairwell before he comes back.

Being caught like this once was OK. Twice was eccentric. Three times just might burn bridges.

I push the door completely open and force myself to take a big step inside. Straightaway I see it. It runs from the living room right out into the hallway and stops about a meter in front of me. I'm genuinely stuck here now. My brain tells my feet to back out into the hallway. But they stay glued to the floor, too petrified to move.

"Honestly, are you OK?"

He's behind me again, in the doorway. I don't turn around. I just lift one arm and point very slowly at the spider. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck as he looks over my shoulder.

"Don't laugh."

He laughs.

I try to keep my voice as low as possible, in case shouting might make it come at me. "It's a phobia. It's not weird."

"OK. What do you normally do?"

"Luke deals with them."

"Luke?"

"Doesn't live here anymore."

"Right."

I feel him step away. "Don't go." I hiss the words.

He's leaving me on my own.

A few seconds later he's back. He moves carefully to stand alongside me. "Hold out your hands."

I do as I'm told. He places a pint glass In one hand and a postcard in the other.

"What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Glass over the spider. Card underneath."

"Then what?"

"Take the whole lot outside and let him go."

"It's not a 'him'. It's an 'it'."

"Whatever."

"Can't you do it?"

"Sure, but what about next time?"

He's right. I really hate him for it, but he's right. "Luke used to kill them."

"Luke sounds like a jerk."

"You know nothing about him."

"Tell me something then."

I can only think of one thing. "He cheated."

"See. Jerk." He puts a hand on the small of my back. His touch is warm, and I realise it's the first time I've felt something that isn't anger or fear for a very long time. Very gently, he edges me forward. "Off you go."

I step out of my remaining flip-flop. Bare feet will be quieter on the carpet. My steps are tiny, tentative, but the spider doesn't budge. I'm about a foot away now. Close enough to lean over and drop the glass onto it. I hold my breath, lean as far forward as I dare, and drop it. The glass goes clean over the spider and I breathe again.

His hand moves away from my back. "Keep going."

I kneel down next to the glass and peer at my hostage. Trapped beneath the glass it looks remarkably placid. I place the postcard on the floor next to the glass and start to slide. It goes under easily. I have the spider ready to be taken far far away.

"Now pick it up."

I slide my fingers under the edge of the card and grip the glass with the other hand. As soon as I've got it off the ground I run for the open kitchen window and hurl the entire thing outside, glass included. I hear it smash on the pavement below.

"Oh my god."

I lean out of the window. There's no one around, just a lot of broken glass on the floor.

"I'm really sorry."

He's laughing. A big laugh that stretches all the way from his mouth to his eyes. He swallows a couple of times before he's able to speak. "It's OK. You just got a bit carried away."

"I'd better clear that up."

He nods. "Maybe put some clothes on first."

"Yeah." I'd sort of forgotten that I was wearing next to nothing all the time his hand had been on my back and his breath was on my neck.

"Well, I need to finish unpacking."

"OK." My insides are all swirly, which I'm completely sure is from the excitement of overcoming my fear. I add that to the list of things I've achieved without Luke. Life is actually going on. I'm managing. I'm independent, which, apparently, isn't the same as being on my own.

"Percy?"

He stops. "Yeah?"

"I'll pay you back for the glass."

"It's just a glass."

"But – " be brave " – I could help you unpack or something. If you want."

"Cool." He smiles.

And I smile too.

 _Situation review: Improving._

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_

 _ **FailedGuardian**_


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